


Chris G.'s Fitness Dance

by chromyrose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Dance Instructor Christophe Giacometti, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Post-Canon, Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromyrose/pseuds/chromyrose
Summary: To the world he is Christophe Giacometti, internationally ranked figure skater; to a gaggle of old Swiss ladies he is Chris, their community center dance teacher, first.





	Chris G.'s Fitness Dance

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written a few months ago for _Bel Ami: A Giacometti Zine_. I received permission to post it all the way back in August, so I apologize for the delay, but watching the Yuri on Ice binge in theaters this weekend was the motivation I needed to revisit this fandom and this fic. I absolutely love Chris, and I think there is so much depth to him that the narrative only barely gets to hint at, so I opted to do a little character study exploring who he is when he's far away from the lights and cameras.

After nearly seven months of being on hiatus, “Chris. G’s Fitness Dance” reappears on the recreation center’s calendar in late April. The air around the building is crisp and familiar, and Christophe inhales a deep lungful of it, soaking in the moment before he pushes the door open.

“Chris!”

He smiles at the sound of his name and waves at Nadine, the friendly receptionist. She grins back, pulls a noisemaker out from behind her desk, and blows into it before Christophe can cover his ears.

“My goodness,” he pretends to wince, but he’s also laughing, his little gym bag swinging against his side. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Don’t be modest,” Nadine cackles. “It doesn’t suit your image. We’ve really missed you around here.”

“Probably not as much as I’ve missed coming,” he counters with a playful wink, delighting in the laughter he elicits from Nadine. She waves her hand in the direction of the hallway.

“Speaking of which, I don’t think you should keep the ladies waiting. They might start a riot.”

Christophe laughs again and blows Nadine a kiss before he heads down the hall. The rec center has two dance classrooms, and Christophe’s class has always been in the one further in the back; that’s the only thing that’s stayed the same about his class since he started out five years ago. 

At first Christophe had billed the class as a “Basic Dance Survey,” but he opted to rebrand it as “Ballroom Dance” when he realized that the students were, on average, much older than he’d been expecting. That incarnation only lasted a few weeks before it had to be reworked again; there were only ever two or three men in attendance, Christophe included, and the women were not afraid to fight over them.

It wasn’t until Christophe realized that the majority of the women who came to the class were coming more for the physical activity than any actual dance instruction that the class turned into “Fitness Dance.” Though he’d let himself be inspired in part by Zumba, Christophe opted not to pay for a license to teach someone else’s choreography to someone else’s soundtrack; to this day, he makes up the moves in his bedroom and keeps his playlist up-to-date with all the music that inspires him to shake it.

When he walks into the dance studio, the reaction of his students is just as immediate as Nadine’s had been in the reception area. Three women clustered around the sound system instantly shriek his name with delight.

“Our medalist!” Gertrude hollers, pulling him into a hug before his bag even comes off his shoulder. She squeezes him tightly and adds, “We’re so proud of you, Chris.”

“Don’t hog the boy, Trudi,” Bernadette huffs. “We want our hugs, too.”

“There’s enough of me to go around,” Christophe says, and his voice is less playfully sexy than he’d been expecting. His smile is just so wide, he can’t be anything but sincere. “I’ve missed you all.”

“You skated beautifully this season,” Gertrude says with a final squeeze before she lets him go. Christophe chuckles a bit sheepishly.

“You watched me?”

“Of course we did, don’t be silly!”

“You were robbed at that Grand Prix Final,” Elfriede grouses at length, missing his cheek and patting his ear instead. “Fifth! Those judges must have been prudes.”

“Don’t bring that up, Elfi! He brought home the World Silver again, didn’t he?”

Christophe laughs, trying not to get embarrassed thinking about these women, all older than his mother, watching his past season’s programs. He should know by now that they’re all but impossible to scandalize. While the women squabble, he turns to the sound system and hooks his iPod into the speakers. Then he scans the room, nodding at all the familiar faces he makes eye contact with. One of the younger women, close to his own age, waves shyly, and he beams and waves back.

The door flies open with a bang, and when the older woman in the doorway sees him, she shouts over her shoulder. “Hurry, Cecelia, he’s already here!”

“I’m coming!!”

“Please don’t rush,” Christophe calls. “We won’t get started until everybody is ready. But if you are here, feel free to begin your warm up stretches!”

The tone in the room shifts as the chatter comes to an end and the women take their positions to start stretching. Christophe turns on a slow, jazzy instrumental track before he joins, noting that the women start mimicking his movements immediately. As the song fades out, he turns to face the group.

“Welcome, everyone, to my fitness dance class. For anyone who does not know me, or perhaps does not remember, I am Christophe—”

“A decorated Olympian!” One of the women in the back calls out, and the room erupts in applause. Christophe bites on the smile that blooms on his face and feels his cheeks warm up.

“Yes, well, let’s keep that between us,” he says, offering an exaggerated wink. Someone swoons. “I am Christophe, but you can call me Chris. And in this class, there are only two rules. One: if something I do is too difficult, please modify it so you do not hurt yourself. And two: embrace your inner Eros and show me how sexy you can be.”

There’s more hooting and hollering, and someone wolf-whistles, but as the playlist starts the women get their game faces on. For the next hour they dance, shimmying their shoulders and twisting their hips, and Christophe can’t quite keep the smile off his face even when he’s breathless with exertion. Never did he think he could enjoy being in a room full of geriatric women doing their best to seduce him, but in this space Christophe has learned that anything is possible.

When the last song on the playlist fades out, the room bursts into applause once more, but this time Christophe joins in. Several voices call out ‘Merci’s as the room begins to empty, but others linger to make conversation. Cecelia makes her way to the front, holding a heavy tote bag up with two hands.

“What is all this?” Christophe asks as she holds the bag out to him, taking it automatically the ease her burden. It’s obvious when even he has to heft it up that it’s fully laden.

“Dinner!” She says brightly. “You have to get so skinny for the competition season, with the strict diet your coach puts you on. But now that you can cheat I thought I’d make all my best dishes. There’s even a bit of _basler leckerli_ for dessert.”

“But this is too much, I can’t–”

“Nonsense, you can and you will,” she insists. “You don’t have to eat it all at once, of course; it’ll keep well in the fridge.”

“What a kiss up,” Gertrude teases. “Bringing the man dinner! What would your husband say?”

“He'd probably ask if Trudi ever learned to stop burning water,” Cecelia sasses back. “Christophe, be a dear and bring the tupperware back when you're done with it, alright? And be sure to let me know what you think of my cooking!”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Thank you.”

The women go on, gossiping, flirting, and teasing, and it takes few minutes for Christophe to finally excuse himself from the conversation. When he leaves the recreation center his hands are weighed down by the heavy bag of food, but his heart feels warm and light.

**Author's Note:**

> Please be sure to let me know what you think! You can find other works made for this zine by visiting them on [twitter](https://twitter.com/GiacomettiZine), and visit me on Twitter as well @[haikyuutiie](https://twitter.com/haikyuutiie).


End file.
